Rusted Wire
by alisonburnis
Summary: You think that you kind of like where you are. Friday night dinner, one year postfinale. JavaJunkie.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Gilmore Girls.

This is in response to a prompt given…a while ago, by** DiehardJavaJunkie14**. Sorry it took me so long! This prompt is Friday night dinner, one year post finale, and, as always, some JavaJunkie love.

(For anyone following Inkverse, this isn't part of it, but it's written in the same style.)

Feedback is appreciated, greatly. Enjoy!

Rusted Wire

It's a phone call that sets off the chain of reactions that led you to this spot. This house. This table.

It's always a phone call.

Always, always, always.

You may as well just stop picking up the phone, you suppose.

Because, if it's going to lead to moments like this, then maybe it's safer to lock yourself up in a tiny room with only Red Vines and a TV for the rest of your life.

Nah, that would be the easy way out.

Plus, you think you kind of like where you are.

-

You get the phone call from your mother at twelve-seventeen PM, on a Tuesday in May. May, 2008. Sun is shining, birds are singing – and you are still in bed. The phone rings, and you shove your head under a pillow, moaning. "Whas' that?" you cry.

"The phone," Luke says. You jump.

"Where did you come from?" you say, gasping.

"The diner," he says. "I stopped by the inn, and apparently you took the day off."

"Oh, yeah," you say. "Um…after my sugar-induced over-dose of last night that involved me passing out on the couch to the theme song of 'Two and a Half Men,' I thought it would be best if I stayed home. Plus, Michel likes to feel important."

"Here," Luke replies, tossing the phone to you.

"Gah," you tell the phone. "Next time, die. Hello?"

"Lorelai, when someone calls, you are not to keep them waiting for thirteen rings," your mother chastises.

You struggle to sit up. "Mom, obviously you really wanted to talk to me, so complaining about the thirteen rings is not something you would do, in the event of something important." You pause. "That didn't make any sense. Okay. Start over -"

"Lorelai!"

"Yes?"

"Next Wednesday, Rory is coming home."

You hold a hand to your chest. "Who? Rory? What?"

"Lorelai."

"Sorry, Mom, it's just hard to resist when you tell me stuff that I already knew."

"On Friday night, we will have dinner."

"Gee, stop with the bombshells already, Mom."

"I would like you to bring Luke to dinner. Don't you think that would be nice? Luke, you, Rory, your father and I. A nice family dinner."

"Hmmm…"

"Oh, just say whatever witty remark you're thinking of, Lorelai! Don't hold back on _my _account!"

"Oh, don't worry, I wouldn't." You switch ears. "Yeah, we'll all be there. One big happy family."

"You've been dying to say that, haven't you?"

"No, I was waiting for the right moment for my _Waltons_ jokes." You smile broadly, enjoying the way she sighs in your ear, a rush of static. "We'll see you Friday."

"Fine." Click, and you toss the phone on the bed.

"Luuuuukkke," you say, batting your eyelashes.

"Aw, jeez." He rolls his eyes. "Dinner with your parents."

"You have been specifically requested this time," you say. "I think you're on Emily-Gilmore's-List-Of-People-Whom-She-Doesn't-Totally-Hate-But-Wouldn't-Hestitate-To-Stick-Their-Heads-On-Pikes."

"Charming." Luke sits on the edge of the bed.

"Don't you have a diner to run?" you ask.

"Don't you have an inn to run?" he returns.

"Look at us, the successful couple who can't be bothered to actually go to work," you kid.

He laughs, and leans to kiss you.

-

"So, like, dinner. Friday. You, me and Bobby McGee," you say into the receiver.

"I assume you mean Luke," Rory replies. You hear the sound of papers being shuffled. "I figured."

"You did? I was hoping that you forgot, so we could use that as an excuse."

"You've been having dinner with them semi-regularly all year," Rory says. "No bloodshed, right?"

"There was that corkscrew that Mom shoved through Luke's hand," you muse.

"Stop," she chides. "You're being all upbeat and annoying and jokey. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing…it's weird. We're a family now. Don't you think that's weird?"

"Not really," Rory says. "But you think it's weird?"

"Yes," you say. "It is weird. Emily, Richard and I have never been a family. More like…a unit."

"Well, we're all happy and family-ish now."

"You go away and start to use words like family-ish?" you say. "I am ashamed."

"Ha, ha." Rory sighs. "I'll see you soon."

"Very soon," you reply. "I'll pick you up, with bells on."

"And I'll deny that you're my mother," Rory agrees. "I love you."

"Love you, too, babe."

-

You tap your feet in a rhythm along the tiles. Impatience. You are full of it. You can't wait to see Rory. You can't wait to hug her and embarrass her. You probably won't though.

There's a crowd of people coming down the escalator. You search for her, and break into a wide grin.

She's home.

-

Friday night.

A night without freedom.

For eight years now, you've been going to your parents' house.

You think you might miss it if it was gone.

Are you feeling alright?

"Ring the doorbell," Rory urges.

"I'm getting there," you say. "Are you okay, Luke?"

"I'm fine," he grunts. He looks _paler_ under the light near the door; you give him a reassuring smile.

"Pikes," you whisper.

"Thanks."

"That sounded dirty," Rory muses.

"Your daughter," Luke sighs, shaking his head.

You press the doorbell and step back. "Hi," you say to the maid. She blinks at you, before holding the door open. "We're here for dinner."

"Oh. Mrs. Gilmore mentioned that…" She trails off, and Rory makes some kind of coughing sound. You try not to look back, because then you might start laughing. The maid starts to run out of the foyer, and then spins to take your coats.

"She seems…" Rory starts.

"A little spazzy?" you reply.

"Yeah," Rory says. "Hi, Grandma."

"Oh, Rory!" Your mother mobs your daughter.

"Can't…breathe," Rory gasps.

"Sorry." She steps back and rests her hands on Rory's shoulders. "You look lovely, Rory."

"Thank you, Grandma." Rory pushes some hair back. "Where's Grandpa?"

Your mother looks scandalized, looking around her. "I don't know where – Richard! They're here!" She glances back at you. "Hello, Luke. Lorelai."

"Hi, Mom," you chirp.

"Hello, Emily," Luke says.

"Richard!" she hollers again. "Oh, for crying out loud…Richard!" She clicks out of the room. "Hang up the phone…business can wait…Rory's here!"

You sit with Luke on the couch, and giggle as your father practically runs into the room. "Hi, Grandpa," Rory says, hugging him, too.

"Ah, Rory. It is wonderful to see you."

"It's good to see you too," your daughter says.

You're kind of craving a drink through these exchanges. Alas, some things do not change.

-

It's a phone call that sets off the chain of reactions that led you to this spot. This house. This table.

You hold your glass of wine to your lips and smile. Rory is telling some kind of story about her travels on the road, and your parents are not horrified by what she's describing. There's been some growing over these last eight years.

Also by you: you're not screaming and running from the room.

Luke also doesn't look like he's going to die. He's grinning at Rory's story, and you smile at him.

A nice family dinner. Who knew?

You sip the wine, and wink at Luke. _Do we tell them?_ you mouth.

He gives the slightest shake of the head. _Wait._ _We'll tell them after_.

_Yeah, look at how happy we are._

"Lorelai," your mother says. "What are you doing?"

You smile at her. "Nothing, Mom."

You rub the diamond on your fourth finger, and think that you kind of like where you are.


End file.
